


Sometimes When I'm Alone

by thedevilyouknownow



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s02e03 Sixty Five Million Years Off, Episode: s05e14 The Polarizing Express, Episode: s05s07 Ferry Tale, Episode: so2e11 There's Something About Mira, Hurt No Comfort, just so much of it, poor shawn, this is really just upsetting, why do I make my characters suffer?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilyouknownow/pseuds/thedevilyouknownow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when Shawn got too deep into that train of thought, the one that crept up at the corners when they arrived on the scene of a new case and Gus seemed less and less fazed, he was grateful. That was the really sick thing, was that he was grateful. He wanted Gus to be using him in some way, even if it was as small as believing in his stupidity, his inability to sit still, to focus. If he was, maybe Shawn was justified in having this. In hoarding Gus close to him and exposing him to horror after horror because he was too selfish to let go.</p><p>Or: Three different one-shot episode codas where I create a lot of angst for no apparent reason. (summery from second one shot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Detectives

It had already been a bad day. Yes, it was early morning, or more accurately early for Shawn, which is to say 10:20, but he could already tell the day would be awful. He had gone to bed the night before with a headache, the kind that felt like his head was splitting open, and the kind that meant nightmares, hyper senses, and everything being too _loud close bright_. It sucked, a hangover without the benefits of drinking, mainly the once being drunk part. Worst still, Gus was otherwise occupied. The night before he had gone out with a girl from work, who Shawn was sure he would end up disliking soon if he didn’t already. He could have interrupted of course, told Gus he was having a headache and his friend would have rushed to his side without a second thought. Usually he wouldn’t have hesitated to get pull Gus away for a moment, but…he hadn’t wanted to burden him. He’d been a little worse recently, what with receiving fewer cases from the SBPD and having trouble sleeping, and Gus had been by his side more often than not. Once or twice he even ditched his route to play foosball with Shawn (that’s when he knew he looked bad, when Gus willingly left work for something other than more work). He could have, probably, called Gus this morning but Shawn had wanted the freedom that came with riding his motorcycle.

 

Seeing the commotion in the station had perked him up considerably because he assumed there was a high profile case for him to crash, or perhaps be invited to join. His hopes were dashed when he’d seen the look on Lassie’s face, when he’d seen the board, heard the cheering. He tried to shrug off his disappointment and lighten his spirits with rousing game of ‘poke the Lassie bear until he growls,’ a self proclaimed sport that Gus didn’t completely approve of, but it backfired. He was still tired and hyperaware of his surroundings so the general buzz was overwhelming now that he knew it couldn’t be used to his advantage, so when the two detectives engaged him in their usual banter he couldn’t quiet keep up. He paused, slipped up, and Lassiter’s cold smirk made his teeth buzz. Juliet’s words, probably meant as a harmless jab, dug at his skin and made him feel somewhat exposed.

 

            _“Oh Spencer, you look so sad. Come on, we’ll show you how real cops do it.”_

_“No Comeback? Shawn, that’s slightly embarrassing.”_

 

Drawing his arms into his chest Shawn followed them out the door of the station. He supposed he should be grateful, they were willingly letting him follow them around, but instead he just felt hollow. They hadn’t noticed how on edge he was, how jittery, how his skin seemed to be vibrating _(loud close bright)._ He was good at pretending, he knew that, that’s how he succeeded at his job, but they were supposed to notice. They were detectives, if they couldn’t notice—didn’t notice—then how could he ever trust them? Of course they didn’t know him as well as Gus or his father, but they knew him nonetheless, and their detective skills should have carried them the rest of the way. Maybe though, maybe they just didn’t care. That would make sense. That would explain a lot. He always thought Lassie hated him, more than just the playful hate that he held for the older man, but Jules, well she was a bit of a surprise. He had thought his constant flirting with her amused her, flattered her even, and she seemed to like it, smiling and rolling her eyes playfully Her body language was never uncomfortable, just irritated, but she gave as good as she got and he had always thought she would call him on it if he ever went to far. She was far from powerless, no matter how Lassiter sometimes acted towards her. He had thought, well it didn’t matter now. Neither of them had noticed, or more accurately, cared. He’d just have to try harder, to impress them, to make them see him as useful. Maybe if they didn’t see his weakness, his tremors, headaches, insecurities hidden by nonsensical jokes, maybe then they would accept him, care for him even if it was a marginal amount.

 

He was walking on eggshells the entire case, feeling as though one wrong move would end his career. It caused him to act stranger than he normally would. He got fanatical and made brash decisions, luckily he still had enough sense to utilize his observational skills to make sense of the constant bombarding of stimuli attacking his senses. The case was closed, and he thought maybe Lassie looked at him with a little more respect in his gaze and Jules seemed a little more genuine when she laughed at his stupid jokes. Maybe he was making progress; maybe they weren’t indifferent towards him after all.

 

Later, when Shawn and Gus were alone in their office his friend regarded him seriously.

 

            “Today was bad wasn’t it?” Shawn just shrugged, continuing to play with the Nintendo clutched tightly in his hands. “You could talk to them you know, they would listen,” and as an afterthought, “it would stop some of their teasing.” The laugh that broke free of his throat was nasty and Gus seemed taken aback when Shawn glanced at him quickly. He didn’t speak though, didn’t say what was running through his mind _I can’t tell if they care otherwise, still can’t tell._

 

            “Shawn.” Suddenly Gus is standing right in front of him, his hand reaching to cover the screen Shawn is so intently studying, “Next time tell me, it doesn’t matter who I’m with, if your sitting by yourself practically vibrating because your so high strung. It doesn’t help anything.” Shawn hears himself promise before deflecting, engaging Gus in a conversation about the best type of Pokémon. Privately though, he knows he won’t call Gus, not if the detectives will see it as weakness, not if it means Lassie will give him that cold smirk, not if it would be _slightly embarrassing._

 

                                                                        ~

 

He didn’t really have time to focus on the conversation until after they’d gotten Gus back. He was too high-strung, too anxious to get his best friend back, to really dwell on the two detectives and their respective scores. It isn’t till later, after Gus has gone back home, when Shawn was in his apartment alone, that he remembers it.

 

            _“Wait the D.E.T? I took that when I was 15. I got 100.”_

_“I’m sorry, you said you got a perfect score?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“And you were 15?”_

_“Yeah. Why? What did you guys get?”_

_“You know it’s probably changed a lot since then. You really can’t compare it.”_

_“Apples and oranges.”_

 

Shawn knows that they only dismissed his score because they wanted to save face, didn’t want to admit that their petty squabble had been just that (he had learned what their scores were later via an amused Chief Vick). But maybe, maybe there was something more to it. Their disbelief was probably fueled by their belief in his idiocy. They so firmly thought they were better than him, smarter, more real in some way, that the very idea of him beating them on a test that measured skill was inconceivable. It was possible they were trying to save their pride, but one only has to do that when they think someone inferior has beaten them at their own game.

 

The next morning he took the test again, the new one, just to see of it was different. It wasn’t. He got 100. There was a moment, a moment of extreme weakness, where he wanted to flounce into the station, shove the results into the two detectives faces and then smugly take a sip of some smoothie, preferably tropical. But, that would only lead to pitying; he would seem pathetic, like a whimpering snotty baby. They would see his insecurities then, laid bare for them. He had been working so hard on being better, less of a nuisance to tease and more of a colleague. This would ruin it.

 

And later, when Gus found the results still open on Shawn’s computer while they were re-watching Chips for the umpteenth time, he just glanced over. Gus looked a little worried; his brow furrowed in the way that said he thought Shawn was about to do something stupidly reckless. Before he could start in Shawn raised his hand up to quiet him,

 

            “I was just bored.” Even to him his voice sounded a little too flat, his emotions falling short of genuine.

 

            “You know the scores are pointless. They were just jealous, you shut them up.” Of course he had heard, of course. Buzz must have told him, maybe even the chief. It makes him feel worse for some reason, not better. He feels like Gus is babying him and he hates it. Hates it so much that he has to clench his fists tight in his lap and set his jaw.

 

            “Shawn.” At some point Gus must have turned down the volume on the TV because Shawn can’t hear anything but the worry in Gus’s voice, his pulse pounding in his ears.

           

            “Gus, buddy, I swear it’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me running off to join the academy or anything.” Gus just looks at him for a long moment as if searching for something before turning back to the TV.

 

            “Its not the academy I’m worried about you running off to.” Just like that Shawn goes from anger to numbing guilt. It reminds him of what a disaster he is, so selfish he can’t even stick around for his friends and family, the ones who need him. He’s in ruins.

 

            “Never again, buddy, I promise, never again.”


	2. The Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus was supposed to be in on the joke. Sometimes Shawn wasn’t sure if he was just playing along or if he actually believed in Shawn’s act. (Season 5 Episode 7 Ferry Tale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love pain and suffering, hope you guys do to!!

It wasn’t that Gus intentionally spoke down to him, it was just sometimes he forgot where the act stopped and the real Shawn began. Sometimes he forgot that beneath the layers of sarcasm, movie references, witty comments and juvenile antics, was a man, and an intelligent one at that. Shawn was used to people underestimating him, hell he loved it, loved proving them wrong whilst destroying them with references so obscure they were left reeling.

 

But Gus, Gus was supposed to be in on the joke. Sometimes Shawn wasn’t sure if he was just playing along or if he actually believed in Shawn’s act. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if Gus was taking advantage of his ADHD and tendency to get distracted for one of their classic punch lines, or if it was just because he felt like Shawn was that easy to manipulate. That easy to bend to his will, morph into a more desirable shape.

 

Deep down he knew that Gus was only trying to help him, to be a good friend, but the days when the lines blurred, the days when it was already hard to force his usual smile, those were the days he was afraid he might forget himself. Those were the days when the betrayal hurt more.

 

Gus was never a good actor; he had been terrible in Othello senior year and he was only marginally better now. The years of lying, of sneaking around, had hardened him somewhat and that edge, his ability to stomach some atrocities, killed Shawn a bit. He hated that he had done this, created this. He hated how he had taken a chisel to his friend, _best_ friend, and made his edges pockmarked, jagged. He couldn’t be smooth anymore; Shawn had robbed him of that.

 

When Shawn got too deep into that train of thought, the one that crept up at the corners when they arrived on the scene of a new case and Gus seemed less and less fazed, he was grateful. That was the really sick thing, was that he was grateful. He wanted Gus to be using him in some way, even if it was as small as believing in his stupidity, his inability to sit still, to focus. If he was, maybe Shawn was justified in having this. In hoarding Gus close to him and exposing him to horror after horror because he was too selfish to let go.

 

            (Who was he kidding-- _no one that was part of the problem_.)

 

But Gus was smart, he had gone to college after all (a fact Shawn somewhat resented as he himself had been accepted everywhere he applied, even though he hadn’t ended up going, hadn’t even told Gus he applied in the first place. Everyone just assumed he wouldn’t be going to college, except for his dad, even Gus to an extent. So he just let them believe it. He hadn’t gone after all, they were right. There was a time when he had seriously considered it but the thought made him weak at the knees, rubbery in an unpleasant way. It was the same feeling he got after his dad had arrested him, when he knew he couldn’t be a cop. It had been a relief of sorts, because he knew then he had finally, _finally_ , failed his dad’s expectations. But in another realer way, it had been an ending. He had always assumed he could be a cop, worst come to worst, and then that back up plan had been ripped away and he had been left wobbly, unsteady. So when it happened again, when he’d had to make a real decision, he’d run. It was cowardly sure, but it had been in the making for a long time. No one was really surprised.). He must know on some level what he was doing.

 

Maybe though, maybe he thought it was part of the joke. Maybe he didn’t know that each time he seemingly exploited Shawn for a laugh Shawn ached a little more. Maybe he was truly oblivious; there was a reason he was in pharmaceuticals and not psychiatry. That was almost worse, that ignorance, than if it were intentional. Behind intentional actions lay a tangled mess of twine, knotted and fraying yes, but possible to unravel. Unintentional actions however, they were a minefield. Even if one were careful there would surely be a slip. Even if they were disengaged, dug up, there would still be some left over, ready to go off at a moment’s notice. It was impossible to completely quell the unintentional.

 

All this speculation was, of course, beside the point. Shawn was not going to confront Gus about his actions. They weren’t detrimental in the end, and they were relatively infrequent so he could ignore them. It would do him some good actually, to build up a tolerance. He had been getting too soft lately; it’d been too long since he had been on the road.

 

Life on the road was something he only missed occasionally, when he was feeling particularly drained or numb from the grind. It had been free, that life. Even though it had been grueling, disgusting, lonely, even downright painful, it had been fun, and it had been free. Those moments, the ones when he longed for the transitory life, were when he would remember his dad, the police force, Gus, Jules, Lassie, Gus, Chief Vick, Gus, Gus, Gus. It always came back to him, back to Gus. They were friends for life, at least as far as Shawn was concerned, and in the end it was Gus that had brought him back, who always brought him back. It was Gus who helped him through the divorce when both his parents had been too busy yelling, or worse being silent, to hear him sobbing. It was Gus who comforted him when his memory got to be too much, too painful, too full. It was Gus who stuck with him, even when he abandoned him for a life of freedom. It was Gus who played along with his games, humored his whims, and was a constant. Gus was, without a doubt, worth the occasional emotional twinge. No, he wouldn’t confront him.

 

So he took the Snicker’s bar, pretended that he didn’t know what Gus was doing. Pretended that Gus meant it as a joke. Pretended, pretended pretended.


	3. The Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God he wished he had a motorcycle, wished he had a beer, wished he had some of those prescription drugs his mom used to slip him when he was younger to force him to calm down when she thought no one noticed. (The Polarizing Express Season 5 Episode 14)

The moment he saw the footage his heart stopped. He felt cold, dread piling up in his stomach. He had tried to distract himself, tried to act like himself, or at least the happy, childish version of himself. Gus hadn’t bought it (of course he hadn’t) but he too was on edge. Too on edge to notice the tension in Shawn’s shoulders, the almost maniacal set of his smile, the painful sounding laugh he let out as if it were choking him.

 

It was harder to maintain the fake smile, the humor, when he was watching his dad get fired, his world crumble before him. The disbelief in his father’s eyes, the frostiness and disappointment so bitter he could almost taste it, was a stab in between the ribs. It reminded him of that day, years ago now, when his dad had arrested him. Pushed him up against the car, frisked him, left him in jail over night. A shiver ran down his spine, more lightening like than cold. The ride to his dad’s house was more than a little tense and Shawn honestly wasn’t sure what would happen when they got there. He fucked up a lot, sure, but hardly ever in a way that so heavily affected others. God he wished he had a motorcycle, wished he had a beer, wished he had some of those prescription drugs his mom used to slip him when he was younger to force him to calm down when she thought no one noticed. He needed to be asleep, or knocked out, he craved oblivion. Maybe he should piss off some big guy in a bar, someone with a strong left hook. It wouldn’t be that hard, he had done it before when he needed something and Gus wasn’t there to talk him out of his recklessness.

 

He tried; he really did, with his dad. He tried to be upbeat, positive, to make up for the fact that he had basically ruined his dad’s career—again his mind whispered though he couldn’t exactly place when the first time would have been—but it was hard. He’d snapped, regretted it instantly but it didn’t matter much after the fact, not with his dad. Henry Spencer wouldn’t take him seriously if he apologized just then, would have thought it was a ploy or worse, would have seen that something was wrong. His dad had the right to respond the way he did, he’d had a long day too. It hurt, not just the reminder of his mom and their fragile relationship, but the whole thing.

 

“I’m just so tired of the grind, you and me spinning our wheels and going in opposite directions. I can’t help but wonder what our lives would’ve been like if you just stayed wherever the hell you were and not come back to Santa Barbra 5 years ago.”

 

It felt like a joke, a sick punch line. It hurt because he had considered this himself, had spent hours agonizing over it. He had, in his mind, often when he was alone in the psych office or whatever makeshift apartment he had decided to call home, picked apart his life and stitched it back together in a million different ways. The worst part was that in all the different configurations his turned out the worst. If he hadn’t come back he would be lost in some way or another; knee deep in suffering, his elbows greased up from a day of labor, shoes muddy from running away in the woods, eyes rolling back in his head body stiff in a ditch. Even in the moments when he was happy in these fantasies, these nightmares, he wasn’t truly happy. It was always bittersweet. The others though, he could imagine them happy. Even Gus, there were stories Shawn could create that ended with him happy. In those versions he would mourn the loss of his friend, because even if your getting a postcard or two every couple months your not really getting friendship, but would then move on to greener pastures. Shawn wouldn’t though, he never does.

 

So standing there, listening to his father tell him something he already knew, already dreaded, made him feel as though he was under water. The world went fuzzy, cotton in his ears, salt in his eyes, wool wrapped around his skin. He responded, somehow, though he can’t remember with what, and made his way home. It was only when he got home that he realized his heart still wasn’t really beating, was still stopped.

 

It was almost funny in a dark “death is inevitable” kind of way, and the laugh that bubbles up in his throat scrapes and claws at him, chokes him. Of course his dad would unknowingly drag up one of his biggest insecurities, he just knew him that well. Or didn’t, it was hard to decide really. It was now worse, somehow, this fear, this nightmare, now that his dad had mentioned it, because now he knew it wasn’t just him. He couldn’t even be safe in a blanket of assurances that it was just his self-doubt acting up again. Now he had the truth. Now he knew it wasn’t just in his head.

 

After that he worked hard, closed the case, got his dad his job back, restored the natural order of things. He couldn’t, however, shake that feeling of numbness. His heart still wasn’t beating quiet right. It was like he was a kid again, young, back when he still thought of his dad as his hero. He wanted to make him proud, as if getting back the job for him wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He could go to the academy, graduate at the top of his class, become a detective, a chief, and it wouldn’t matter. Henry would still lord this loss over him, no matter how privately. Just like that doghouse, just like the Easter eggs, just like the thousand little tests that littered his childhood. This failure would not be forgotten, would not be forgiven. It would only be acknowledged, moved from the temporary fuck up list to the permanent one. Shawn was pretty sure his dad had lists entirely dedicated to all of his mistakes.

 

He knew his dad loved him and was proud of him. He knew that, he did. He only joked about it because of his assurance in it. That was why he always claimed to side with his mom, because he was less sure of her. She was always leaving, always allowing his dad to decide what should happen next. That was a bigger violation in many ways, the complacency. His dad had done things wrong, Shawn was the first to bring them up, but his mom had allowed him to do those things wrong and had, in many cases, only cared about it later when it was thrown around in their late night fights. When they thought he couldn’t hear, even though the walls had always been thin.

Nevertheless, they loved him, this he knew. They both pretended, a pair of fools. It was like his dad said, they were spinning their wheels, but it just wasn’t always in different directions. Shawn might be stubborn, but not as stubborn as his dad, so his wheel often slowed to a halt, let out some sparks, then turned the other way. He was moveable. His dad would always be a sore spot, would always be a weakness because, as much as he liked to pretend he had outgrown trying to please him, it just wasn’t true.

 

 _I can’t help but wonder, I can’t help but wonder._ Shawn turned the phrase over in his head, smirking cruelly. He thought of it when he rode his motorcycle, recklessly, to the police station the next day. Thought of it when his dad glanced at him one to many times during his briefing—pestering—with the chief. He thought of it as Jules shook her head, as Lassie grimaced, as Gus frowned. It filled him to the brim and on some days it turned into an endless chant, _can’t can’t can’t_

_Can’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the angst :)
> 
> also I got the Maddie pill thing and the specifics of the arrest from other fics, I can't remember the pill one but http://www.psychfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=82&textsize=0&chapter=1 is the other one and its really good so you should totally read it if you haven't already.

**Author's Note:**

> soooooo I really should be working on my other fics but I watched psych and.. yea. I have the other two one shot's written I just have to edit them, I'll post them whenever I can get to wifi which means it'll take longer than I;d like but they'll all be up by the 6th of august for sure


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